


Dream of Me

by Somnum



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Inception AU, M/M, if you want to get technical I mean, will tag more pairings later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somnum/pseuds/Somnum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extraction and inception are two very different things, and they are two very different things that Enjolras is very good at. But every job needs a team, and the hardest jobs need the best. Even if the best is a drunk whose dreams are a place of shambles. </p><p> </p><p>Inception AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Movement One

Eponine met Grantaire in a café in France. She recognized his face, of course. Extraction was a selective business. And Grantaire didn’t exactly try to keep a low profile. There was a bottle grasped loosely in his hands, his hair a mess of black curls. He was laughing at something the man sitting next to him was saying, eyes hazy. Repressing a sigh, Eponine pulled her phone out. It could never be just a nice night out; no, it always had to turn into a work night out. 

_> Enjolras  
Found a forger. Come to the Musain_

Signaling for another drink, she kept an eye on Grantaire. There was no way Enjolras could turn this one down. There he was, the world’s foremost forger at the _same fucking bar_. Yes, she had heard the rumors of his drunkenness, his lack of conviction in any job, and yes, she was sure he would annoy Enjolras. But that was a small price to pay for security. This guy had skills and a reputation to follow. There was no way she was using some forger off the streets and screwing up the whole job when one of the best was so close. 

“Where are they?” Enjolras said into her ear, scanning the bar. “Don’t give me that look. I only live down the street and was up anyways. Besides, how long can we really safely wager that this forger will stick around?” Rolling her eyes, Eponine jutted her chin towards Grantaire. Enjolras glanced at him before making a face and shaking his head. 

Eyebrows raised, Eponine turned around on her stool to fully face him. “Give me one good, solid reason we shouldn’t work with him. Or I’ll go over and introduce myself.” 

“He’d just detract from our cause. Trust me, that man is a hopeless case.” 

“… I’m going over there.” 

Enjolras’ eyes widened marginally before he frowned. “There’s no way you can do that in a way that isn’t immediately contrived. He’ll know something is going on, and it can be hard to get him to agree to work on projects. Let me go, if someone must. The fool’ll listen to me, for a minute.” Squaring his shoulders, Enjolras left Eponine. From her seat at the bar, she could only see as Enjolras tapped on Grantiare’s shoulder. Downing the rest of her drink, she settled in to wait. 

It wasn’t a long wait by any means. Much shorter than Eponine had expected, for that matter. Enjolras had talked about Grantaire like a man pulling teeth, long suffering and frustrated. But he was back almost as soon as he’d left, Grantaire walking up lazily after him. He had left the bottle behind, and his fingers seemed to not to know what to do with themselves. “Eponine, Grantaire. Grantaire, Eponine. Grantaire has agreed to work with us on our upcoming project. We meet at my apartment at nine, as usual,” Turning towards Eponine, Enjolras lowered his voice. “I’ve given him the address. Do try and make sure he doesn’t blackout tonight.” Giving a short nod of his head, he swept out of the small café. 

Taking the stool next to Eponine, Grantaire took a minute to order a new beer before turning to her. “So how did Apollo guilt trip you into joining his little cause?” There was soft bitterness under-lying his tone that she pretended wasn’t there for his sake. 

“It wasn’t so much as a guilt trip as it was me agreeing with him. But let’s not talk of work. There’s plenty of time for that tomorrow. You’ll be lucky to get a spare minute to give us all your name.” Cradling his new beer bottle, Grantaire looked at Eponine. His gaze was slightly disconcerting; for all of his liquor, he seemed in complete control of himself. 

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that Enjolras didn’t share with you all the intimate details of how the idealist extractor knows the lowlife drunkard.” At Eponine’s answering shake of the head, he smirked, taking a long pull from his bottle. “I would say it’s not my story to tell, but when has that ever stopped anyone before? And besides, I’m in it, so I think it does qualify as my story to tell. Unless you don’t want to hear it? I’m sure you’ll get the watered down, politics based one from Apollo later. That is the version he prefers.” 

Ordering two shots of vodka, Eponine sat back. “I think I’d like to hear your version very much. Consider my offerings of alcohol as payment.” Taking the proffered shots from the barkeep, she handed one to Grantaire. With a smile, she drank it quickly, pressing her lips together as it burned its way down. He downed his equally as quickly before running a hand through his mess of hair. 

“It was about three years ago, I think. Before he had a group of anyone loyal to him and his ideas. I had been working a job for an American business man. Do you even know the amount of money you can make in this field if you forget your morals? The average business man or politician will pay you thousands to plant some little thing in their rival’s head. He came up to me at a pub and asked me how I could sleep at night.” He paused, eyes flickering away for a moment. “I told him quite well. The night may have gotten ugly; it may have ended with us in a fist fight. But somehow he ended up with my phone number and somehow we ended up working some pro bono job together.” Finishing off his beer, Grantaire smirked. “Haven’t worked pro bono since. Course, he’s all you can hear about in some of the seedier joints. Something about a revolution and a change of how we use extraction and inception and I can’t really tell you I’ve ever been arsed to listen to it.” 

“And yet here you are again,” Eponine noted wryly. Grantaire tossed her a short smile, a shrug settling over his shoulders. 

“What can I say; I’ve always been a sucker for blue eyes. Was he serious about the nine in the morning start time? I’m not sure I’ve ever functioned that early in polite society.” 

A frown marring her face, Eponine nodded. “Unfortunately.” 

Looking up at the clock, Grantaire placed a wad of money on the bar before standing. “If I’m to be even a shadow of my charming self, I had better head out now. I’ve got a bit of a walk home, but I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, Eponine.” With a lazy salute, he left the Musain. 

Pulling her phone out again, Eponine asked the bartender to put everything on her tab before turning away. 

_> Enjolras  
Full story of how you know Grantaire, stat. and no boring bullshit. I’m going to compare it to what he told me._

_> Eponine  
It’s hardly anything exciting. We worked a job together. _

_> Enjolras  
I need details here. he just spent what could have been my rent on alcohol. _

_> Eponine  
Can’t this wait? I was trying to go to sleep_

_> Enjolras  
Are you really going to try and pull that one?? you were probably looking over your plans for the durand project_

_> Eponine  
There are no “other details”. We met, he agreed to work with me, we parted ways. End of story. _

_> Enjolras  
Then what was with the hesitancy to get him to forge for us?? How do u get hopeless cause from cordially working with him_

_> Eponine  
This isn’t any of your business. _

_> Enjolras  
Oh please_

_> Eponine  
You’ll see soon enough, I’m afraid. _

_> Enjolras  
????_

After waiting for about five minutes for a response, Eponine sighed and slipped her phone back into her pocket. Enjolras was generally a prompt responder. It was fairly clear that he was purposefully not answering, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care. There was obviously a slight history between Grantaire and him, but it didn’t sound like anything serious. Enjolras could get snippy over the littlest things; Eponine had met other people that Enjolras deemed annoying and thought them perfectly acceptable. 

Grantaire had seemed fine; he was funny and could hold a conversation even when drunk, qualities Eponine could appreciate. Not that her friends couldn’t hold their liquor, but she could easily drink most of them under the table. Wrapping her scarf around her neck, Eponine left the Musain, shivering as the wind whipped around her. 


	2. Movement Two

The stairs leading up to Enjolras’s apartment creaked. He had often told Eponine that he had let them be so that he would always know if someone was coming. She was pretty sure he was just too busy with other things to even bother with them. Enjolras lived on the top floor of a six story stone apartment building. The rent was cheap and the landlord didn’t question people visiting at two am. It wasn’t suited to being a serious operations base, but functioned more as a general planning space. 

Cursing the lack of an elevator once again, Eponine knocked sharply on the door. The stairs were cold, as usual, but they were steep enough to make whoever was climbing them sweat, no matter the temperature. During the summer, Eponine refused to visit Enjolras more than absolutely needed. 

“Eponine, come in,” Enjolras said, waving a hand for her to enter. He had on what appeared to be a three piece suit, the jacket unbuttoned. “Have you seen Grantaire?” Taking off her jacket and hanging it near the door, Eponine shook her head. 

“Not since last night. Perhaps he got lost?” Enjolras rolled his eyes, a frown creasing his forehead. With a shrug, Eponine moved past him. Taking her usual seat on the couch, she glanced around. Unusually, everyone else on the team was already present. Combeferre stood near the window, shifting though a pile of papers. Courfeyrac was carrying two cups of coffee and soon handed one off to Jehan, who was perched on the other end of the sofa. Joly had his chemicals spread out on top of the table behind the couch, and he was sorting through them anxiously. 

Folding down the corner of one page, Combeferre looked up. “If this forger isn’t going to show, I do have other options to pull. One man I’ve kept tabs on is currently in Germany and could surely get here without much fuss.”

Pulling off a pair of disposable rubber gloves, Joly shrugged. “Let’s give him a few minutes at least.” Courfeyrac and Jehan murmured their approval. “Besides, it’s not like we need a forger until we’re actually in.” 

Enjolras sat on the chair near the couch. “Technically, yes. But he has no idea of any of the details for our plans and he’s only ever worked with me. I don’t want everyone’s first run through with him to be the day of.” He lapsed into silence, picking up a file folder off the coffee table. The apartment was silent for a good while; the only sounds audible being the rasp of papers and the clinking of teeth against coffee mugs. 

A bit after nine thirty, Enjolras got up and went into the kitchen. Eponine could hear his voice angrily hissing into his phone, though she could tell he was trying to be quiet. Everything tended to echo in Enjolras’ apartment, not because it was very large, but because it was very open. “It’s almost nine forty five and where the fuck are you, Grantaire? God, I thought that maybe you’d shaped up since I saw you last but it appears that is impossible. If you don’t show your sorry face here soon, you’re off the job.”

Exiting the kitchen with a mug of coffee, Enjolras scowled as everyone suddenly looked anywhere but at him. “I know you could all hear me. Nothing’s ever private with you lot. He’ll be here soon enough, I’m sure.”

Combeferre lifted an eyebrow as he set down his pile of papers. It was a stack of dossiers, Eponine could tell from the font and small photos. The detail work for Durand project was extensive, but that was the job of the point man, and he never complained. Currently, he was tracking the man’s movements through a trail of hotels and witnesses. Five minutes passed slowly, and at the start of every new one, Combeferre looked towards Enjolras, phone in hand. 

A sudden, sharp knock roused Enjolras to his feet. Quickly crossing the room, he opened the door to a familiar dark haired man. A Styrofoam coffee cup dangled from his hand, and he shot Eponine a smile over Enjolras’ shoulder. Stepping to the side, Enjolras waved him in. “Everyone, this is Grantaire, our new forger.” Slipping a dark green beanie off his head, Grantaire set his messenger bag down near Eponine’s coat. 

“I already know the lovely Eponine and our fearless leader of course, but can we do a quick little name thing? Can’t promise this’ll stop me from messing them up the first few days though. Or else I’ll have to resort to nicknames. Which to be fair, is likely to happen anyways.” Eponine snorted, thinking of the casual Apollos she had already heard tossed around. 

Shutting the door, Enjolras nodded. “Combeferre over there is our point man. Joly’s our chemist. Jehan is our inside informer, and Courfeyrac is general support. Does anyone need a refill on coffee or anything? I’m going to make a new pot. Try to get acquainted.” Taking Enjolras’s now empty chair, Grantaire finished off his coffee. 

Courfeyrac was the first to break the somewhat uncomfortable quiet in the room, leaning forward to look at Grantaire. “Nice to meet you, man. I’ve heard a lot. The DeWitt Job? Absolute perfection. Not a lot of guys have the balls to pull something like that off.” A smile spread across Grantaire’s face as he too leaned forward. 

“You think? I thought the final touches were a little much, but-”

“I would have liked to hear more about you in the past hour. From you,” Combeferre interjected, a slight frown on his face. “You were aware that we started at nine, correct?”

Widening her eyes at Combeferre, Eponine tried to soften the statement. “Don’t worry about it, Grantaire. He’s just jealous all his research couldn’t find you before I did.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I was pretty drunk last night and forgot to set my alarm. Won’t happen again, Scout’s honor,” Grantaire replied, making an odd hand sign that Eponine vaguely recalled as being the Boy Scout sign. She somehow doubted Grantaire had ever been a Boy Scout. Then again, she hadn’t thought him to be that drunk last night either. She herself had a slight hang over, but nothing debilitating. 

Forcing Eponine to move over, Enjolras squished himself onto the couch, handing a mug of coffee off to her. “Thought I asked you to make sure he didn’t drink that much,” Enjolras muttered to Eponine, voice low in her ear. Grantaire glanced over at them, a short sour look stealing across his face. 

Holding her mug up to her mouth, Eponine whispered back. “He seemed fine last night. What, did you want me to follow him home and shove Advil down his throat or something? I barely know the man, Enjolras. I have no idea what drunk looks like on him.”

“You’ll figure it out, I’m sure,” Enjolras said under his breath, perhaps more to himself than Eponine. Increasing his volume, he leaned away from her to speak to the group. “I do hope enough trust falls took place while I was making coffee that we can jump to a basic group dream. We can do that, take a quick break for lunch, and get in depth about the Durand project after. Grantaire, I’m sure you haven’t been following the news about the situation in-” 

Grantaire looked up from where he was idly tracing a pattern on his chair’s arm. “I do manage to stay sober long enough to watch the news once or twice a week. And it’s fairly hard to avoid hearing about any sort of political happenings in the extraction world, so while I do appreciate the condescending attitude, I’m fairly sure I do know about whatever situation you were about to inform me of.”

“And so it appears miracles do occur,” Enjolras responded coolly. “Joly, please retrieve the machine from its usual place.” With a nod, Joly left the room. “Now, I don’t know what you’ve used in previous jobs, Grantaire, but we use the same machine that you and I used on that job a while ago. The one developed by the U.S. military. Just as a refresher everyone, the chemicals involved in this are dangerous and you are never to use it alone or in excess.” 

“That kind of addiction’s a bitch to break, too,” Grantaire chimed in, a wry smile pinned to his lips. Eponine noticed it didn’t reach his eyes. He lifted his empty coffee cup to his mouth like a reflex before frowning and pulling a small flask from inside his jacket. He took a quick sip before slipping it back. 

No one quite knows what to say after that. Enjolras merely curled his lip like he expected nothing more. Grantaire caught sight of his face and Eponine could track the flash of hurt like it was a storm front. Clearing his throat, Joly set the machine down on the coffee table. “I’ll stay back to arrange the kick. It’s not like I usually go under with you guys anyways. Everything’s all loaded up, so just pick an armband…” The machine sitting on the coffee table was a silver nightmare of wires and tubes contained inside a briefcase. A circular arrangement of containers took up the center of the case. Thin multicolored tubing ran from each container, ending in adjustable armbands.

Combeferre took a seat across from the couch and wrapped a band around his upper arm. Everyone followed suit, careful not to get the tubing tangled. “When you hear music, that’ll be the kick. Everyone ready?” Taking note of the nods he received, Joly pressed a central button. A low hiss was heard as the chemicals were deployed. Jehan’s head was the first to nod, his eyes slipping shut as the room fell silent. Opening up his laptop, Joly sat on the floor. He had about an hour before he had to do anything and the slight headache he had in the back of his skull wasn’t going to diagnose itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fingers crossed this helped clear up some Inception terms to anyone unfamiliar with them, but I will pull together some definitions soon just to make sure. 
> 
> For anyone interested, this is what I based the exterior of Enjolras's apartment on: http://img3.etsystatic.com/000/0/6170207/il_fullxfull.267742467.jpg 
> 
> And here is what a dream machine looks like: http://media.bestofmicro.com/inception-dream-sharing-machine,S-L-255045-13.jpg


	3. Movement Three

“Alright team, let’s get this done. Hands in on three,” Enjolras said, face deadly serious. The man standing next to him cleared his throat and rolled his eyes. 

“You don’t do a very convincing me, Grantaire. Now change back and calm down. We all know what a forger can do; you’re hardly thrilling.” With an exasperated sigh, Grantaire shifted back into himself, body blurring. “Thank you.”

Jehan tilted his head slightly, eyes wide. “You’re forgetting that this is my first job ever, Enjolras. Can you shift into anyone? Can I do that?” Grantaire smirked, his curled black hair changing into Jehan’s braided reddish hair. 

His voice stayed his own, and Eponine filed away that Grantaire should never dye his hair that color. “Anyone I want. The resemblance is pretty easy to pull off, but if I need to be someone for a job it helps to study them beforehand. Make sure I get all the little quirks, you know? As for if you could do it, I suppose so. This is kind of what I’ve wasted the past few years of my life on, though. It takes a while to perfect.” His hair shrinks back to its bird’s nest state. 

“If we’re quite done with the explanations now,” Enjolras started. Something in his voice was tensed, an undercurrent that Eponine was unused to hearing. Taking off his suit jacket and draping it over one of the chairs that she had designed, he braced his hands on the table. “We’re going to have to run through some simulations later, because I’m sure Durand’s got his subconscious weaponized. But I did say this was merely going to be a basic group dream, so we won’t go into that now. The kick will be in about half an hour, so I suppose everyone should just familiarize themselves with everything.” 

Opera music started to trickle into the building after Eponine had changed the room around once or twice and Grantaire had impersonated a few politicians, something that managed to draw laughter from even Enjolras. Fingers twitching on the table, Courfeyrac looked up. “And there’s our kick, right on time.” Seated at the table, Eponine could somehow feel herself falling and then she was lying on her back in Enjolras’s apartment. Joly had his fingers on her wrist, checking for a pulse.

“Looks like everyone made it back okay,” Combeferre noted. “But was shoving us all to the floor really the best idea for a kick?”

Joly frowned, removing his fingers from Eponine’s wrist. “I was in a little bit of panic, okay? I’ve recently found out that I have probably contacted some form of spongiform encephalopathy, and let me tell you, it’s a shock to the system.” 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at Eponine. Propping herself up on her elbows, she leaned over. “Don’t worry about it. Joly’s got a new disease just about every day.” He nodded, a short smile playing across his face. 

Sitting up, Courfeyrac cracked his back and yawned. “I’m feeling a lunchtime break right about now.” Jehan nodded empathetically next to him. “And no Enjolras, I don’t mean a fucking working lunch. Besides, I’ve seen your cabinets. I’m not really feeling a container of instant coffee and a box of crackers for lunch.”

“There’s a place down the road where a friend of mine works,” Grantaire said. “He usually gives me a nice discount. We could head over there? The food’s not half bad too.”

“Calling the food ‘not half bad’ is really selling it. They should hire you to do their advertising. But hey, I’m always down for cheap food.” Eponine commented with a shrug. The rest of the group agreed with little struggle, apparently as swayed by low priced food as most other twenty somethings Grantaire had met. Grabbing a variety of coats and scarves and hats from the coat rack, they left Enjolras’s apartment. 

Enjolras could hear Courfeyrac shout as he fiddled with his doorknob, trying in vain to lock the apartment. “And here we see the great revolutionary leader in his natural habitat, struggling with basic tasks,” said Grantaire, a smirk unfurling lazily across his face. Giving up, Enjolras spun around and began to walk down the stairs, ignoring Grantaire’s protests as he walked past him. 

\----------------------------------

The Corinthe was a small café tucked away in a Parisian back street, as all the best cafes in Paris tend to be. A chalkboard was out in front, proclaiming the specials of the day in spiky handwriting. Inside was nothing impressive; water damaged walls were hidden by various paintings and a collection of mismatched tables and chairs were grouped around the room. Winding through to a back corner, Grantaire promptly slumped down into a chair. “Marius, my good man! Pray tell the kitchen is open this early,” he said, directing his voice to a back room. 

A man whose face could only be described as one very large freckle walked out of said back room, hands busy tying apron strings behind his back. “For you, Grantaire, of course,” he replied, face serious. “And it helps that it is after nine, the time at which we open.”

Grantaire waved his hand, a smile creeping across his face. “Ladies and gentlemen, this fine fellow here is my roommate, Monsieur Marius Pontmercy. And yes, he is indeed single and ready to mingle. Don’t rush him all at once now. Menu is on the wall, lunch is on me. Or Marius, more accurately. I’ll take a glass of wine to start off.” 

“Just go get one yourself and let me take these orders. Musichetta is in the kitchen, she’ll let you get it,” he said, pulling out a pad of paper. “Now what can I get everyone else?” Nodding after every request for food, Marius quickly read everything back before disappearing into the kitchen. Grantaire wandered back out, a glass of red wine in hand. 

Eponine leaned across the table, eyebrows raised. “You didn’t say your friend was _attractive_.” 

Spluttering on a sip of wine, Grantaire coughed. “Marius? The one who just took your order? He’s like a giant, gangly puppy or something. Not what I’d call attractive.”

“Alas, how will my heart heal from that grievous insult?” Marius said dryly, placing drinks down on the table before rushing back to the kitchen. 

Tapping a finger on the rim of his glass, Emjolras glanced at the glass of wine in Grantaire’s hand. Noticing, he raised it with a mocking smile and took a long sip. 

“No but for real. You said he’s single, right?” Eponine said, running a hand through her hair. “And not crushing on anyone else?” 

With a shrug, Grantaire, draped his arm over the back of Eponine’s chair. “He is as free and as awkward as a baby bird, mon cher. But I’ll say it right now; I take no responsibility for the actions or word of Marius. So don’t go blaming me for anything he does. I may share an apartment with the man but that doesn’t mean he’s learned from me like the ideal role model I clearly am.” 

“You’re an inspiration to us all,” Enjolras replied sarcastically. 

“And we’ve got roast beef and Roquefort sandwich for the man with the glasses, stuffed artichoke for the redhead, quiche poireaux for the lovely lady, Bayonne and Reblochon sandwich for the man with the curls, shrimps and lotte for blondie and of course, oysters for R,” Marius rattled off, placing dishes as he went. “Enjoy.”

Swallowing the bite of his sandwich, Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. “R?”

“It’s a nickname. Feel free to use it when you wish,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “Now if the questions can wait, these are the best oysters in all of Paris, so I suggest you let me eat them now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you even know how many pictures of delicious food I had to look at to write this chapter? (also my tumblr is mistercanis if you're interested. I might post some stuff related to this fic?? Who knows)


End file.
